Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

Dante grabbed a double fistful of Annie’s black hoodie and jumped to his feet, yanking her up with him. She swung a fist but missed him by a mile. He slammed her against the wall and braced an arm against her chest. When he saw her throat muscles tense, he beat her to the punch and head-butted her first. Their heads met with a loud clonk.

Her head thumped back into the wall, denting the plaster. She looked up at him, blinking, more startled than hurt. Her eyes were sky-blue, not Heather’s shade of deepest twilight. She was about the same height as Heather, five four or so to his five nine.

Her hair, streaked electric blue, purple, and black, framed her face and swept razor-cut ends against her shoulders. Metal rings and studs gleamed at her eyebrows, ears, and bee-stung lower lip.

He touched his nose. Pushed. Winced. The bone cracked as it slid into place. He sniffed back blood. “You gonna calm the fuck down? Or we gonna do this all night?”

“Fucker,” she spat, her kohl-lined eyes locking onto his face. She stopped struggling. She sucked in air, eyes widening, the pupils dilating even more.

Dante sighed and looked away, muscles taut. He knew his looks hooked into people, mortal and nightkind, and reeled them in by the crotch. Hot and bothered. Wanting him, wanting what they saw, anyway. Sometimes that was okay. Sometimes it was fun. But only sometimes.

“Hey.”

Dante swiveled his head back around. And she kissed him. Warm lips tasting of tequila and clove cigarettes. He pulled back, felt a smile tilting his lips. “First the head-butt greeting, followed up with a sloppy kiss. Is this how y’all do it in Seattle?”

“Who the hell are you? How come you broke into my sister’s house?”

“ Toi t’a pas de la place pour parler . I ain’t the only one,” Dante said, nodding at the crowbar on the carpet. “How come you’re breaking in?”

She glanced at the crowbar. “Nuh-uh. You broke in first.”

“I’m a friend. Just wanted to see if Heather was all right.”

“Most people knock on the door first to see if someone’s home,” she said, lifting her chin. “Then wait for them to answer it.”

Dante glanced at the crowbar on the floor. “Yeah? And you know this how?”

“Heard it from, like, normal people,” she said. She pushed against his arm. “You can let go now. I promise not to make you bleed anymore.”

Dante snorted. “You didn’t make me bleed. The broken nose did that.” He stepped back, releasing her.

Annie rubbed her forehead. “Hard skull, man. Your nose looks okay to me, you big baby. By the way, I’m Annie.” She extended her hand.

“I figured. Heather’s talked about you.” Dante grasped her hand and shook it. “I’m Dante.” Her grip was firm like Heather’s, but hard, like she was still challenging him, trying to make him wince.

Annie released Dante’s hand. “And how do you know my sister?” Her gaze skimmed his length from head to toe. “Steel-ringed bondage collar, latex and leather—trust me, you’re not the kind of guy she usually brings home.”

“We met in New Orleans.”

“Holy fuck! Are you the guy Heather was telling me about?” Annie poked a finger into his chest. “The guy who fucking saved her life? The guy who is…fuck, what the hell did she say you were?”

“Something nice, I hope. But I’m okay with something naughty.”

“She said you weren’t human,” Annie laughed, her voice low and booze-and-smokes scratchy. “Crazy, I know! I forget what she called you….”

“Nightkind.”

“That’s it! Nightkind. Vampire. Are you?”

“Yup,” Dante replied, trailing a hand through his hair. “When did you talk to Heather? Have you seen her? She okay?”

Annie shrugged. “I guess she’s okay.” She felt along the wall for a light switch. “So, just ‘yup’? No denials? No ‘get real, there’s no such’—”

Dante heard a click as her fingers found the switch. Light flooded the room, spiking pain in through his eyes. He reached for the sunglasses parked on his head, then realized he’d lost them during Annie’s head-butt hello. Squinting, he lifted a hand to shade his eyes.

“Fucking hell,” Annie whispered. “You’re even better looking in the light. That’s rare, you know, a lot of times guys you pick up in clubs will be soooo pretty in the dark, especially Goth boys, but once you see them the next morning in raw daylight—yikes.”

“Been there,” Dante murmured. “I feel your pain.”

“How in hell did Heather land a hottie like you? Even with blood on your face, you’re yummy.”

Elroy’s words whispered through Dante’s mind, words spoken in the back of a blood-spattered van, words that latched tight as handcuffs around the pain in his head: Your nose is bleeding. That’s kinda sexy .

Dante rubbed his right wrist as the Perv’s whisper faded, a ghost sheeted in cold steel, sharp shivs, and bitter lust. But the pain didn’t fade. “That’s a stupid question,” he said, refocusing on Annie. “Your sister’s gorgeous, inside and out.”

Annie stuck her index finger in her mouth and pretended to gag.

Dante laughed. “I think I like you, p’tite .”

Spotting his sunglasses on the carpet next to the coffee table, he walked over, scooped them up, and dropped them on over his eyes. His headache eased a little. “Do you have any idea where Heather might be?” he asked, swiveling back around.

“Nope.” Annie closed the distance between them until she stood just a handspan away, her weight shifted to one hip. “But I bet I know a few tricks she doesn’t,” she said, voice low. “She’d be so pissed if I jumped your bones.”

“I ain’t here to piss her off. And if that’s why you’re here, I gotta feeling we’re gonna be butting heads again.”

“Really? Promise? It was soooo fun the first time.” Her gaze slid over him and the chemical tang underneath her lavender-and-cloves scent thickened, curling into Dante’s nostrils like smoke.

Dizziness suddenly whirled through Dante, spinning the room around him. Something in her scent…drugs? White light flickered at the edges of his vision. Sensations rippled through him, pulled and tugged like a tide of ghostly hands; then the rip current yanked him down. Sucked him under.

A needle pierces the skin at his throat. Cold burns through his veins like dry ice .

Images sheared up into Dante’s mind, fractured and confusing: A room with blood-spattered, snow-white walls. A hype with a bead of clear liquid on the needle. A man’s voice. What’s the little psycho yelling?

Pain sucker punched him. He stumbled. A hand locked around his bicep. Black flecks flickered through his vision. Faded slowly. Dante looked into Annie’s blue gaze—saw curiosity. Hunger burned through his veins. He needed to feed. He’d waited too long. And his control was slipping.

“You okay?”

“Oui.” He pulled free of her hold. Stepped back from her heat, from the tantalizing patter of her pulse.

“Can I see your fangs? You got fangs, right? I wanna see.”

Dante walked into the kitchen, stopping at the sink. He twisted the knob to cold. Bending, Dante cupped cold water in his hands and splashed it on his face. Scrubbed away the blood. But not the whispers.